


Checkmate

by Orchyd Constyne (slarmstrong)



Category: The Lord of the Rings - All Media Types, The Lord of the Rings - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: BDSM, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-02-03
Updated: 2015-02-03
Packaged: 2018-03-10 09:27:52
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,886
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3285245
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/slarmstrong/pseuds/Orchyd%20Constyne
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Thranduil and Celeborn have carried on the same long-distance chess game for the past decade, a wager hanging over both of their heads that the winner can't wait to claim.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Checkmate

Celeborn:

Knight to F-8 -- Check

Things aren't looking too promising for you, mellonen vrûn.

Thranduil

*****

Thranduil:

King to H-8

Don't get cocky, King. At least, not until you lose.

Celeborn

*****

Celeborn:

Queen to H-7 -- Check

Cocky, am I? I do believe that it shall not be long until you learn just how much.

Thranduil

*****

Thranduil:

Knight to H-7 takes Queen

You appear to be rapidly running out of troops, saelbeth. I do hope that you add a *competent* tactician to your employ before attempting any campaign against Dol Guldur.

Celeborn

*****

Celeborn:

Knight to G-6 -- Check

Fine talk from one who managed to lose not one, but *two* settlements to hostile forces. If you led your army the way you play chess, it's little wonder that Doriath and Eregion fell to the Enemy.

Thranduil

*****

Thranduil:

King to G-8

At least I had sense enough to not let the Enemy take up residence in my backyard.

Celeborn

*****

Celeborn:

Rook to F-8 -- Check and Mate

Keep your enemies closest, they say. Seemed to work pretty well luring you in as well. I'll be expecting you in Mirkwood to fulfill your forfeit within a month.

Thranduil

*****

Celeborn swore under his breath. His talan trembled ever so slightly from even the whispered use of the Black Speech, but there was nothing for it. No other language contained a word that could adequately express his disgust at himself for failing to see the setup until it was too late.

The Lórien Lord looked about his study, as if searching for an excuse not to make his way to Mirkwood. That forfeit... Celeborn cringed slightly as he though of the rash decision he had made when Thranduil and he had begun the chess game almost a decade ago. He looked down at the ornate chess set that showed his King in checkmate and sighed.

He had lost. And he was an Elf of his word. Celeborn called for a page to locate his seneschal and began his preparations to leave his Wood for that of Thranduil's.

*****

Thranduil simply smiled at the Elf-lord who sat before him. Celeborn had arrived that morning and they were sharing a last glass of wine before retiring. Celeborn seemed slightly nervous, and Thranduil took it all in stride.

"You can always take another way out, Celeborn."

Celeborn raised one eyebrow at the Mirkwood King. "Another way?"

"Aye."

"And what is it you would seek instead, Thranduil?" Celeborn put his glass aside and watched Thranduil warily.

"Send Haldir to me for a decade to train my warriors." Thranduil followed suit and set his glass down, leaning forward with a smirk on his face.

"Haldir? For a decade?" Celeborn's heart began to pound.

"Haldir. It would save you the trouble; you could return to your Wood tomorrow with your honor intact. You simply lose your great March Warden for a ten-year."

"I cannot do that, Thranduil." The Lórien Lord stood and walked to the study door, resting his hand on the latch.

"Then you will honor our original wager?"

"Aye," Celeborn choked out.

"Then I will expect you in my chambers tomorrow after the evening meal."

Celeborn nodded and left the room quickly, his heart pounding in his chest. He had accepted his fate. Although, if he admitted it to himself, he was looking forward to whatever Thranduil had in store for him. The bet had been quite vague, but Celeborn knew the King had been planning this moment for years.

*****

The following evening, Celeborn was brought by a page to an anteroom outside Thranduil's bedchambers. He stood anxiously in the center of the room, wondering if the Mirkwood King was intentionally keeping him waiting.

A moment later, Thranduil's voice called out from behind the door, "There is a shirt draped over the chair. Undress and put that on."

Celeborn's eyebrows raised and he glanced over to the chair. Picking up the cream-colored garment, he noted that it was a long nightshirt with billowing sleeves that bunched at the wrist. It wasn't 'feminine' exactly, but certainly not something that Celeborn himself would have worn of his own volition.

Which was, of course, why Thranduil would have chosen it. The two Elf-lords were kindred spirits in this: both had a penchant for assuming a very dominant role over their bedmates. While neither would push to the point of humiliation or abuse, both sought partners of a more submissive nature who would readily accept a bit of subjugation and sensual domination. That shared tendency was the topic of quite a bit of their correspondence and had contributed directly to their chess wager. Though both had taken numerous lovers to their beds as dominants, neither had ever been in the position of the submissive.

Until tonight, that is.

Had Celeborn not fallen for such an obvious ploy in the last moves of the match, Thranduil would be standing in a room very much like this one in Lórien, contemplating some of these same thoughts while Celeborn waited out of sight for the opportune moment to make his entrance. As it happened, though, it was the Lórien Lord who was now removing his 'official' robes and discarding the rest of his clothing in favor of the frilly nightshirt that hung loosely about his frame. The soft fabric fell past his waist but not quite to his knees so that his modesty was preserved -- but only just.

After another suitably long pause, Thranduil entered the anteroom from his bedchamber. The Mirkwood King was shirtless, wearing only a pair of loose trousers. Thranduil made a striking sight with his smooth, unblemished chest bared and an air of superiority coming off him in waves. He crossed the space between him and Celeborn without a word. He walked around the Lord of Lórien, looking appraisingly at his chess partner. Celeborn stood straight, stock-still and didn't flinch when Thranduil brought his hand up to caress his mithril hair.

"I think, Celeborn, that these braids are far too elaborate here, do you not agree?" Thranduil smirked and swiftly released the intricate knots that denoted Celeborn's status. He remained silent when Thranduil began to replait his hair in a single rope down his back, tied with a piece of white silk. "Much better."

That finished, Thranduil walked around to face Celeborn. He brushed the back of his hand down Celeborn's cheek. "Nervous?"

Celeborn shook his head. "You have been doing this almost as long as I have. I have no reason not to trust you. I know you would not harm me."

Thranduil smiled when Celeborn used the word 'harm'. Years ago, they had a frank discussion about the difference between 'hurt' and 'harm'. Thranduil had not considered the issue until Celeborn brought it up, the silver-haired Elf-lord remembered, and he had made a very interesting distinction between the two -- 'hurt' was a temporary condition that went away, while 'harm' was a permanent change in condition that did not go away easily. Neither 'hurt' nor 'harm' were limited strictly to the physical, either. Celeborn had gone on to point out that -- in their sort of play -- hurt was almost inevitable, but as long as their partner consented, and their limits were respected, the hurts would fade and no lasting harm would be done.

"No," the Mirkwood King answered finally, "I would not harm you. You will be free to leave at any time, though I must say that if you leave before one hour's time, it will mean that you agree to my other option and will send Haldir to me to train my archers."

Celeborn's brow furrowed. A lot could happen in one hour. Still, he had talked with Thranduil about this aspect of their lives for a very long time, and he knew that he would not be in any danger. "I understand," he said.

Thranduil pulled out a length of dusty-green leather that he had obviously tucked in his leggings. It had a buckle on one end and several notches on the other. Using a collar was something else that the two Elf-Lords had found they had in common. It was an easy way to separate the play from the world outside. As long as that collar was on, the dominant and submissive roles would be respected; however, the moment the collar was removed, those roles were left behind.

"I know you have a similar speech that you give to your partners," Thranduil began, "but I want you to listen to this one anyway. I have found that it helps to create the mood. Now, once I fasten this collar around your neck, all sense of who you are outside these rooms ceases to exist. While you wear my collar, you are my servant and you shall address yourself as such. You have no other identity.

"I am your Lord. When speaking to me, always use the title with respect and obedience. My needs and wants are supreme, and your only concern is to please me. You agree to put my pleasure before your own, and I agree to respect your limits and ensure that your comfort and enjoyment are never violated. To that end, if at any point you feel uncomfortable, you can say 'caran.' If you say 'caran,' all play will stop at that moment, the collar will be removed, and you will be allowed to leave."

Celeborn had spoken truly to Thranduil about not being nervous. Then the Mirkwood King had begun laying out these guidelines, and Celeborn was struck by the sudden sensation that there would be no turning back after this; his status and station would be stripped from him, and he would be at Thranduil's whim and mercy. In that moment, losing Haldir for ten years did not seem as insufferable as it had before then. The urge to relent welled up within him, but pride lodged the words in his throat. After all, what would Thranduil think of him if he was unable to deal with at least a little of what he had given to so many others? And what would he think of himself?

Thranduil asked once more if Celeborn was certain of his choice, and Celeborn nodded his assent, not trusting his voice not to quaver. Thranduil slipped the collar around Celeborn's neck and fastened it about his throat. He checked the buckle and grunted in satisfaction. Turning back toward the bedroom he'd entered from, he said gruffly, "Follow me," and strode purposefully through the door. Celeborn swallowed, feeling the weight of the cool leather around his heated flesh, took a deep breath, and trailed behind his 'Lord'.

Celeborn was led through Thranduil's bedchamber to another door beyond it. This was not that surprising to Celeborn; the Lórien Lord kept his bedchamber apart from what he called his 'playroom' even to the point of having a separate talan constructed high above the Royal Talan for that express purpose. Thranduil did not have the luxury of space that Celeborn did, though, so his playroom sat in a hollowed cavern just beyond his bedchamber.

The room was not especially large, nor did it need to be, designed as it was for only two people. The far wall had been hewn smooth and was used as a display for a host of implements. There were at least six floggers of varying thicknesses and designs hanging alongside three different riding crops and a selection of paddles. Beside that hung all manner of restraining devices -- everything from a simple leather hood to an elaborate set of wrist and ankle cuffs forged of mithril that obviously dated back to the time of Thranduil's father.

In addition to the extensive display of tools and toys, the room housed several interesting furnishings. Most were familiar to the Lórien Lord, especially the two pieces that dominated the room. One appeared, at first glance, to be an iron rod suspended from the ceiling of the cave by a thick, heavy chain. However, closer inspection would reveal that the chain was not attached to the ceiling, but rather fitted through a large ring and then fastened to a hand crank secured to the wall. The crank would allow the bar to be raised or lowered as necessary.

The second item, though, was more interesting to Celeborn. Thranduil had described it to him in his letters, calling it 'the horse', but this was the first chance that Celeborn had to see it for himself. It looked much like a bench that had been left unfinished, as if only one leg had been attached, leaving the seating area to slant downward and rest against the ground. Of course, no lethargic craftsman was responsible for this; the apparatus had been designed that way specifically. Hooks were fastened to the upright 'leg' perfect for attaching ankle restraints. The slanted 'seat' also had a large iron ring embedded at the far end, near the floor for attaching wrist cuffs. Or the other way around, Celeborn thought suddenly. So many possibilities sprang into his mind, and he silently resolved to have one made for his playroom upon his return.

Thranduil turned around quickly and found Celeborn's eyes wandering about the room, taking in the equipment. He recognized that look of fascination and creativity -- Celeborn was looking about with a dominant's eye, his mind cooking with ideas and fantasies of using the tools on others, perhaps even on Thranduil himself. It was the wrong mindset to be in at the moment, and the Mirkwood King had to snap him out of it.

"On your knees, servant!" he barked with a venomous voice. He smirked when he saw Celeborn jump slightly with surprise. He was right; the Lórien Elf had been in his own world, thinking of himself and not his Lord. Thranduil's command brought Celeborn's attention back to him, although he made no move to comply.

"I am not accustomed to repeating myself," Thranduil warned in a low growl, narrowing his eyes as he stared at Celeborn. "If I must do so again, I will add another half-hour to your required time. Now, on your _knees_!"

Celeborn's eyes widened at the threat, and he quickly lowered himself to a kneel, stuttering out a mumbled, "Aye, Lord" as he did so. In his mind, Thranduil smiled. Celeborn was certainly determined not to allow Haldir to pass the borders of Mirkwood. He must be something very special, Thranduil thought, if Celeborn was so possessed of keeping him. He briefly debated being extra firm with Celeborn in an attempt to force the Lórien Elf to call off the game, just so he could see what made Haldir so important. In the end, though, he decided against it; he was not competing with Celeborn, after all, and turning the session into a battle of wills would only ensure that neither enjoyed the evening.

Thranduil stepped closer to Celeborn's kneeling form. "Lower my leggings, servant." Celeborn raised his hands to obey, but Thranduil slapped them away. "When I give you an order, you will answer me before making any motions!"

The Lórien Lord flinched as though it had been his face that Thranduil had slapped instead of his hand. "Aye, Lord," he said, louder than he'd intended, and waited for Thranduil to nod before reaching again to undo the laces of the King's leggings. As he slid Thranduil's leggings to the ground, the King's engorged member sprang forth, smooth and white like alabaster. Celeborn had a fair idea of what was coming next, but knew he had to remain in his kneel until given orders.

That order did not come, though. Thranduil stepped forward again, wrapping his fingers around the base of his erection and holding it close to Celeborn's face. "Take a good look," he said softly, rubbing the dark pink head down Celeborn's cheeks, first the left, then the right. Celeborn's skin was cool and soft, with the unblemished, ageless beauty of the Calaquendi. Thranduil allowed himself a small sigh of pleasure as he brushed the tip of his arousal across Celeborn's pursed lips. "Now open," Thranduil commanded.

Celeborn's lips parted and he began to open his mouth to accept Thranduil's arousal, but then he remembered his Lord's earlier admonishment. "Aye, Lord," he whispered, allowing his tongue to brush against Thranduil's tight shaft, before opening his mouth as instructed.

Thranduil felt the hot breath against his skin, followed by the tip of Celeborn's tongue. He closed his eyes and began to ease himself forward. He did not go far, sliding only roughly half his length into Celeborn's widening mouth. "I have consistently been impressed," he began casually, "by the oral prowess of all those I have brought into this room. I trust that you shall not be the exception."

Celeborn was no stranger to this particular act; like Thranduil, he had taken lovers as equals in the past. Still, he felt anxious as he closed his lips around Thranduil's erection. He cast his glance upward from his position on his knees and took in the sight of Thranduil towering over him, larger than life, as though Celeborn was pleasuring one of the Valar themselves. That feeling of inferiority and helplessness was, of course, the point, and Celeborn was immediately aware of the intoxicating effect it had on him.

He then suddenly became very conscious of another consequence of his position. Kneeling as he was, his shirt no longer reached below his waist, meaning that his growing arousal was very apparent and uncomfortably exposed. A flush of embarrassment began to spread across his face. He was certain that Thranduil noticed because the Mirkwood King placed a gentle hand on the top of Celeborn's head. The touch was oddly reassuring, and Celeborn was able to ignore the urge to tug down at the hem of his shirt. Instead, he simply closed his eyes and concentrated on the motions of his mouth and tongue, forcing himself to focus on Thranduil and not himself.

Celeborn worked his mouth along the Mirkwood King's length, beginning to accept his position and even revel in it. As a dominant, the pressure is on to protect one's submissive from harm, to drive and control the evening's events, and to be constantly aware of the submissive's limits and body language. As a submissive, though, the only duty is to please one's Lord. In an ironic sort of way, Celeborn found his new position quite liberating. He ceased to be embarrassed by, or even aware of, his very visible erection and cast his attentions instead to Thranduil's. The skin was soft and smooth; Celeborn's lips could glide along the shaft with ease. The darker pink head was swollen and hot as it became engorged with blood, and Celeborn spent a long, lingering moment suckling the tight flesh. He swiped his tongue across the slit, tasting the clear, salty drops that had begun to seep there.

Thranduil groaned in the back of his throat. He had not been wrong about Celeborn -- the Elf-lord was as accomplished at oral pleasure as he had hoped. He looked down at Celeborn, now moving easily along his length, and smiled. Each time Celeborn slid back, Thranduil caught a glimpse of the not-inconsiderable size of the Lórien Lord's firm arousal. He imagined himself stroking the silken skin of that member between stinging slaps of a paddle. Perhaps he would try that later tonight. For now, though, he put a stop to that line of thought, lest he should lose himself too soon.

The King placed his hands on Celeborn's shoulders and pulled out of the dark red lips. "Enough of that for the time being, I think," he said, catching his breath. As this was not a direct order, Celeborn remained silent, just as he should. Thranduil nodded with satisfaction and then pointed toward the back wall. "Select one of the floggers from the wall and bring it back to me, servant," he commanded, relacing his leggings.

"Aye, Lord," Celeborn nodded. This was another of Thranduil's preferred games, the Lórien Elf remembered. The choice of flogger would determine the length and intensity of the flogging. As Celeborn approached the selection, he noticed immediately that the most prominently displayed was made with six flails of wide, thick, softened leather. This was by far the tenderest of the floggers, which meant -- as Thranduil had explained it -- that any who selected it would be in for an extremely long and fierce session.

Naturally, then, one would assume that if the tenderest flail brought on the fiercest flogging, then the angriest-looking implement would be the shortest. That was the second trap. The servant who selected the flogger on the far right (with nine very thin, whip-like tendrils made of tightly wound strips of the rubbery skin of a Mirkwood spider) would likely be unable to sit for three days afterwards due to the severity of Thranduil's exertions.

Of the four remaining choices, there was no 'right' answer that would ensure a swift and relatively painless session. Avoiding the two obvious selections was the real test, but Celeborn took his time choosing anyway. He immediately eliminated the flogger to the far left. While it, like the center one, was made of softened leather, the flails were much thinner and knotted several times along their length. In the hands of a powerful warrior such as Thranduil, such a tool could be most... uncomfortable.

From the final three, Celeborn finally settled -- arbitrarily -- on a black flogger with fairly narrow strips of tanned and dyed leather, longer than the others, and with a small notch cut into the tip of each strip, making the entire implement look like a collection of forked snake tongues. As Celeborn turned around with the flogger in his hands, he noticed that Thranduil was waiting for him beside the 'horse'. He held the flogger across his upturned palms and offered it to Thranduil, averting eye contact by keeping his gaze fixed on a point just above the King's right shoulder.

Thranduil nodded his approval of the choice and brought his hands up to accept the tool. As he did so, he clapped the pair of iron manacles he'd been holding around Celeborn's wrists. Thranduil wished he could have captured the look of surprise that crossed the Lórien Elf's face in that moment. Celeborn flinched back, spilling the flogger from his palms into Thranduil's waiting hands. The King deftly caught the handle of the toy, pivoting around Celeborn and flicking his wrist in one smooth motion, snapping the forked strips against the back of Celeborn's thighs. Thranduil's control and aim were excellent, ensuring that this first strike barely connected, would sting only slightly, and would fade almost instantly.

Celeborn jumped when the blow from the flogger crossed his thighs, but the pain was gone before he could cry out. The pop of the leather echoed in the small cavern and set his ears to ringing. He could barely hear Thranduil's order for him to bend over the horse, and his answering "Aye, Lord" was virtually drowned out as well. Celeborn stood before the upright portion, noting that what he had thought was a solid piece of wood had, in fact, a large section cut out. He realized the purpose of the cutout as he bent over -- it was ideally positioned so that his stiff member would not be pressed against the wood, but would be pushed forward to hang free through the opening.

His frilly shirt rode high on his back, and Celeborn felt more exposed than if he had been nude before Thranduil's eyes.

Thranduil strolled around the apparatus, admiring the pretty picture that Celeborn made sprawled along its length. He kneeled down by Celeborn's head and clipped the manacles to the large hook, causing the Lórien Elf to whimper as his body was stretched to comply. He left Celeborn's feet free for the moment, deciding not to make his erstwhile servant feel overly confined. Once he was satisfied that Celeborn's body had become accustomed to its new position, Thranduil gave an experimental swipe with the flogger across Celeborn's bared backside.

The Lord of Lórien had sustained many injuries in his life, from the innocuous to the near fatal -- some even delivered while his back was turned. The snap of the flogger against his pale cheeks rated somewhere between the thud of a practice blade and falling out of a flet. That is, it was painful enough to be noticed, but otherwise unremarkable. The second blow, though, caused Celeborn to bite back a yelp, and the third had him digging his nails into the wood on the sides of the horse. By the sixth, Celeborn was unable to restrain his voice, and he found that the release of crying out was so cathartic that he dropped all pretense of restraint after that.

Thranduil's blows fell randomly across his buttocks, with ever-changing frequency and intensity. Celeborn was completely unable to predict where or when the next strike would be delivered, and the anticipation was sometimes more erotic than the strike itself. Celeborn tended to engage in this sort of guessing game when in Thranduil's position, but he had reasoned that it was in order to keep a playmate from tensing or bracing against a blow. It had never occurred to him that there was an art to timing those pauses as well, or that the tingling feeling in the pit of the stomach was just as important as the sharp sting of impact across the backside.

Celeborn gave himself up to the rise and fall of the flogger, his body moving with Thranduil's strikes, and his arousal throbbing needfully, reminding him how much he was enjoying submitting to the Mirkwood King.

The Elf-king watched with mounting pleasure as Celeborn's backside and thighs slowly became a soft pink, and then reddened. Thranduil could imagine the sting each blow brought, and he wanted to see Celeborn's face as the Lórien Elf was shown a new aspect of himself he didn't know existed. But Thranduil had. Yes, Thranduil had seen the interest veiled in the words of Celeborn's letters. From the moment it had dawned on Thranduil that the silver-haired Elf might want to be bound and beaten, Thranduil had looked for an excuse to maneuver him into this position, as if he were a piece on a chessboard.

Thranduil decided that Celeborn's buttocks had endured enough abuse, though he was certain Celeborn would welcome a longer session. But he did not think Celeborn was yet ready to submit for such a long duration. He returned the flogger to the wall, and as he walked back to the horse, he rubbed at his cock through his leggings. Thranduil wanted to simply part those red, stinging cheeks and thrust himself into that silver body, but that was not the aim of this game. He would not take the silver Lord, no matter how much he desired to. Instead, he unlatched the shackles from the horse, pulling back on Celeborn's arms. "Stand," he ordered.

"Aye, my Lord," Celeborn said breathlessly, his head spinning slightly as he stood upright once more. As they crossed the room, Thranduil had Celeborn remove the white shirt, finally giving Thranduil the ability to see all of the Lórien Lord's body. Thranduil led him to the bar suspended from ceiling and commanded him to raise his arms. As Thranduil shackled him to the device, the King's body brushed against Celeborn's aching arousal and the Lórien Elf moaned, his hips thrusting forward in hopes of relief. Thranduil, though, offered no relief, he simply swatted his stinging backside, and Celeborn hung his head between his up stretched arms. Thranduil raised the bar, pulling Celeborn onto his toes, his body pulled tight, straight, and Celeborn felt his cheeks flush under Thranduil's scrutinizing gaze.

The Mirkwood King then drew two identical floggers from within a wardrobe against one wall. These were specialized instruments, not included in the 'selection game'. Each flogger consisted of a firm handle attached to a mass of finely braided horsehair tendrils, half a meter long. They were all but useless for the task Celeborn had just endured; the flesh of the buttocks could withstand the blows from these for hours on end without so much as coloring. There was, however, another task for which they were uniquely suited.

Thranduil approached Celeborn, not from the back, but from the front. He casually flipped the horsehair braids onto Celeborn's shoulders and then slid the fine tendrils down the Lórien Lord's chest, stomach, and crotch. Celeborn shivered under the gentle sensation. His skin had become so sensitive under the flogging that his body responded to the slightest contact. Thranduil drew the braids upward along his partner's body, and Celeborn shuddered again. He spent several minutes simply brushing the soft threads across the front of Celeborn's body until the silver-haired Elf was whimpering with each touch.

Celeborn gasped when the first real strike crossed his chest. Thranduil had swung the flogger in his right hand along a path from Celeborn's left shoulder to his right hip. While the blow had not been anywhere as forceful as those across his backside, his skin was so flushed and warm that the effect was of a thousand tiny icicles being tracked across his body. Thranduil lashed out with his other hand, drawing a second line of ice from Celeborn's right shoulder to left hip. Then, before Celeborn could even fully react, Thranduil flipped both wrists, and the floggers licked twin paths straight down his chest from shoulder to thigh.

Once Celeborn's body was sufficiently warmed up -- a state Thranduil could discern by the way the Lórien Lord's head was thrown back, his eyes were clenched, and his breathing was quick and shallow -- Thranduil moved easily into a faster rhythm. His hands and arms twisted around each other in an intricate dance, whipping the floggers against Celeborn's chest and stomach with dizzying speed. The thin braids were not strong enough to darken the flushed skin, but the sustained assault left Celeborn's body covered in a fine sheen of sweat within minutes. Even more arousing to the King was the way that Celeborn's erection twitched with every blow. The swollen head was red and glistened with the thick, clear fluid that seeped almost steadily from the dark slit.

Though Thranduil rarely did so, he felt the tugging within himself to leave Celeborn bound and kneel before him, taking that dark organ into his mouth and tasting those tempting drops of Celeborn's essence. To avoid further temptation, Thranduil stopped his assault on Celeborn's body. The time-candle showed that over an hour had sped by in the room, and Thranduil needed to find release soon, before he did something he and Celeborn would later regret.

He put the floggers away, noticing that Celeborn was still tense, hard, and panting -- he was waiting for the next sweet torture. Thranduil smirked, approaching the sexually pent-up Elf. He was sorry to disappoint the silver Elf. If only Celeborn knew how much he wanted him...

Celeborn's awareness, which had been drifting under the steady onslaught from the floggers, snapped back to attention when the sound of his wrist manacles unlatching echoed in the small chamber. Thranduil had removed the shackles and was also removing the leather collar from Celeborn's neck. Confusion knitted his brow, and he chanced a look at the time-candle, confirming what he did not believe. Indeed, his time was more than over, although it had seemed to him that barely half that had passed.

He rubbed his wrists lightly, his head still spinning and his skin tingling intensely. Celeborn looked up at Thranduil, seeing the King in a new light. Thranduil could have continued and Celeborn would never have noticed, but all the Mirkwood Elf had asked for was an hour of his time -- and that was all he had taken.

"I am sorry," Thranduil began, his green eyes flashing. "I did not mean to allow time to pass so unnoticed."

Celeborn watched Thranduil put the shackles away. "I do not mind; I lost track of the passage of time as well, it seems." He offered a watery smile, his mind heavily fogged with need.

Thranduil slowly circled Celeborn, looking his nude body up and down. "Are you well? No lasting injury I should be aware of?" he asked, concern in his tone.

"No, Thranduil," he said honestly. "I am well."

The King nodded, stepping back from Celeborn. "The session is over; you have fulfilled your obligation, Celeborn. It was a great pleasure."

Celeborn's eyes fell to Thranduil's still prominent arousal. "It 'was'?" he asked, smiling to himself as he gazed at the King's leggings. Though he had not said the words aloud, he was certain Thranduil knew what he was hinting at. "I do not do that in here, Celeborn," Thranduil warned, walking toward the door. "I thought you also did not engage in such activities while in the playroom."

"No, I do not. But your bedchamber lies just beyond that door." Celeborn felt his own member throbbing with his heartbeat, and he ached to feel Thranduil's touch on his body. "My body burns, Thranduil, for a lover's touch, yet I have no companion besides my sword hand. Do you have a bed partner waiting to alleviate your desires tonight?" he asked softly, closing the distance between them. "Would you like to?"

"Celeborn," Thranduil said, his voice tight and his eyes focused on Celeborn's full lips. "Our bet did not extend to sharing our bodies," he tried.

"I am not thinking of our bet," the silver-haired Elf replied. "I am thinking only of your desire and mine. You know that I have long held you in high esteem, and I sense that you feel the same. We are both capable of making sane decisions in this matter, and this is my choice. Tell me you choose otherwise, and I shall bid you good evening and think no less of you, mellonen." (my friend)

Thranduil considered for a moment, then turned on his heel and started toward his bedchamber. He paused at the door and looked over his shoulder at Celeborn. "Will you join me this night, my Lord?"

Time seemed to Celeborn again to jump, just as it had during his submission. The next thing he knew, Thranduil's robes lay in a crumpled heap beside his own, and the two powerful Elf-lords were clasped in a passionate embrace on the King's bed.

Thranduil moaned as he thrust against Celeborn's willing body, plundering the Lórien Elf's mouth. Their tongues danced against each other, teeth raked across sore lips, and their breath mingled in heavy pants. Thranduil could already feel his release building. This would not be a soft, slow encounter, but Thranduil had not expected such a thing from Celeborn.

No, the silver-haired Elf was fire and ice, and Thranduil longed to sink himself deep into those heated depths.

Celeborn felt Thranduil lace their fingers together, and he squeezed them tight, his body tense as their erections rubbed together between their slick bodies. "Thranduil," he panted, his voice ragged as he teetered on the edge of release. The Elf-king's smile was dangerous and hungry as he slithered down Celeborn's body, removing all friction from the Lórien Elf's needy flesh. Thranduil did not release his hold on Celeborn's fingers as he exhaled moist breath over Celeborn's weeping member.

The silver Elf arched into Thranduil's mouth as the King engulfed his sex, crying out sharply and gripping Thranduil's hands tighter in his own. Thranduil bore down, using Celeborn's raised hands as leverage, making it easier for him to smoothly take all of Celeborn's length into his throat.

With Celeborn supporting his weight, Thranduil was able to move freely over the tight flesh between his lips. Celeborn writhed and clenched his hands, but Thranduil focused on lowering himself down that dark pillar and raising himself back up, only to repeat the movement. Thranduil ignored the bitter stickiness of Celeborn's essence, determined to end his lover's needful torment. It did not take long before Thranduil simply hovered above Celeborn's body, allowing the silver-haired Elf to thrust up. He continued to suck and lick at the shaft, but permitted Celeborn to dictate the pace.

Celeborn felt his muscles tighten and he cried out, thrusting up once more as his seed spilled from his body. He remained buried deep in Thranduil's throat, his hands gripping Thranduil's painfully, as his body reached completion after so much teasing and denial. After several long moments, Celeborn's body collapsed on itself and he fell back against the mattress. He continued to twitch as Thranduil lapped at his softening sex, pulling more whimpers and mewling sounds from him. The Elf-king's emerald eyes lifted from his member, piercing him with his own lustful gaze. Celeborn felt his face flush under those eyes, and his heart raced in his chest with anticipation of what Thranduil wanted from him.

"I want to be inside you, Celeborn. I have from the moment you presented your backside to me to be flogged." The request was quietly issued, and Thranduil's breath actually caught in his throat as he waited for Celeborn's answer. He did not expect the Lórien Elf to accept, but when that silver head bobbed, and those swollen lips formed the word 'Aye', Thranduil thought he would spend himself before he could ever fall into the velvet heat of Celeborn's body.

As Thranduil reached for the oil waiting on the bedside table, Celeborn gathered his strength and rolled onto his hands and knees. This was not his first time in such a position, but it had been some time since he had permitted his lover in Lórien to take him. He let out a long breath as warm, slippery fingers slid into him. They briefly delved deep into his passage and spread the oil thickly, and then they were gone.

Thranduil groaned loudly as he added oil to his length, his eyes following the line of Celeborn's back and buttocks. The glistening opening to Celeborn's body teased him by appearing and disappearing between Celeborn's cheeks depending on how the Elf-lord moved. He couldn't wait any longer, and he shifted on the bed, pressing the fat head of his cock to the tight passage. Thranduil thrust forward, slipping easily into Celeborn's tight channel. When his thighs touched Celeborn's, he stilled, panting heavily as the muscles clenched and unclenched around him.

Celeborn sat up, resting his hands on the headboard of Thranduil's bed. He wanted to feel Thranduil moving inside him, but the Elf-king did not seem eager to move. So Celeborn took matters into his own hands. He pushed back, impaling himself further, moaning and breathing hard as he moved away from Thranduil's body, and then he slammed back against the blond, his own cry mingling with Thranduil's.

The Mirkwood King sat back on his heels, holding tightly to Celeborn's hips while the Lórien Elf slid back and forth along his shaft. Thranduil closed his eyes, focusing on that slick, tight heat that drew him closer and closer to orgasm, his fingers rhythmically kneading the flesh of Celeborn's hips. His release came up quickly, and he pushed Celeborn forward onto the bed, slamming into Celeborn's backside once more, spilling his seed deep inside Celeborn's body. He shouted as he trembled with the intensity of his climax, still buried as far as he could be inside his lover.

He bowed over Celeborn's body, resting his brow on the smooth, pale back, silver hair sticking to sweaty muscles. He finally exhaled a long breath and pulled away from Celeborn's body, slowly extricating himself from Celeborn. Still lightheaded from the intensity of his release, Thranduil reached for the scrap of cloth he had placed beside the oil. He cleaned his semi-erect shaft of his seed and the oil, watching as Celeborn rolled onto his back. He handed the Lórien Lord the cloth while picking up the small glass of water beside the oil. He sipped the water, quenching his thirst, his attention focused on Celeborn's movements as the Elf-lord wiped Thranduil's milky fluid from his tender flesh.

Thranduil offered the glass to Celeborn, and Celeborn eagerly took it. His throat was parched. He tossed the rag to the floor and let his back rest against the headboard as he drank the water. It was awkward, sitting there in the aftermath of such an evening, not knowing if he should retrieve his clothing and tactfully slip from the room or if he should draw the bedsheets up and drift into reverie.

Thranduil made the decision for him.

"Would you like to remain here tonight?" he asked quietly.

Celeborn nodded, handing the glass back to Thranduil. The Elf-king extinguished the lamp on the table and pulled the covers up over their cooling bodies. Once again Celeborn was hesitant as they settled into the thick mattress. Was he to press close to the King, or should he remain stiffly on his side of the large bed? Thranduil lay on his back and held out his arm, looking expectantly at Celeborn.

Obviously, they were to press close, Celeborn thought as he laid down next the Thranduil, his head comfortably nestling against Thranduil's shoulder.

Thranduil was just drifting off when Celeborn's musical voice called him back.

"So, tauren, when is the rematch?" (my king)

The End


End file.
